I carved your space when I was eighteen,
Before then were eleven and seven flowers,
But now, nine and eight are taken.
Before then, my visage was shadowed with fears.
I was, a florist with smiles and spleen,
A man with love and tears,
A boy with lowly lustful flares.
Now I know where you had been,
Now that your flags crown my turrets,
Now that your skin compliments my light,
Now that your arm melds around my waist and caresses my pets.
You are mine part never to part, a part to hold tight.
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